But, hark! who are those that disturb the peace that broods like the
wing of an angel over the city of the dead?
Under cover of the darkness and the rain, two dark, cloaked forms steal
along the graveled walk and pause beside the spot where the dark,
fresh-smelling earth is heaped in swelling mounds over the hapless
father and daughter.
The light of a bull's-eye lantern, flashing transiently over the form
and face of one, shows a tall, straight form, and features as handsome
as those of a Greek god. He speaks:
"To your work, Perkins! They were so cursed long putting her into the
ground that I feared my plot would fail! Hasten now. There is not a
minute to lose. As it is, we may be too late!"
The man called Perkins produced a spade from under his cloak, and set to
work, cautiously but rapidly throwing the earth off of one of the new
graves.
"Are you sure you are right now, Perkins? I believe I should kill you if
you made a mistake!" said the handsome man with the lantern, grinding a
terrible oath between his white teeth.
"You'll not have the chance to wreak your dev'lish temper on me," said
Perkins, in a familiar tone, as if addressing one with whom he was
thoroughly acquainted. "I'm sure of what I'm doing. I saw them put her
into this very hole this evening."
"Hurry up, then. What do you stop to talk for? Make your strokes as
light as possible. You might be heard!" said the lantern-bearer,
irascibly.
Perkins redoubled his exertions, but it seemed an age to his impatient
employer before the dull, horrible thud of the spade announced that the
coffin was reached.
"You'll have to help me git the coffin out," said Perkins. "It will be
no easy job in this darkness and the pouring rain."
It was no easy job, as he had said, but their united efforts, with the
usual appliances for such work, at length enabled them to raise it out
of the grave and set it on the ground beside them. Even as they did so,
a dreadful sound mingled with the sob of the wind and the putter of the
rain. It was a low and smothered moan from within the coffin!
"Great God, Perkins, wrench the lid off!" exclaimed the other,
excitedly. "She revives!"
Again and again the low moan echoed within the coffin, having a horrible
sound from within that prison-house of death, and fevering the blood of
the waiting man who swore audibly at Perkins, whose swiftest efforts
seemed like the progress of a snail to his impatient mood.
"Now, sir," said Perkins, at last, as panting, and perspiring, he threw
off the lid of the elegant casket, "now, sir, there's your game!"
The man flashed the lantern light forward. It shone on a beautiful white
face, fixed in unconsciousness, now, the dews of horror standing thick
and wet on the brow, the lips bleeding where the pearly teeth had bitten
them in anguish, the small, dimpled white hands clenched in the lace
upon her breast that was frayed and torn with her frantic struggles at
finding herself in that awful prison. But blessed unconsciousness had
supervened, and she looked death-like indeed to the eyes that beheld
her.
"Looks like she might be gone, sure enough, this time sir," said
Perkins, uneasily.
"If she _is_, I'll kill _you_, d--n you!" cried the man. "I'll not be
balked of my revenge like that. I'll glut it on somebody!"
Even while speaking he bent down and laid his hand upon her heart.
"No, she lives; I feel her heart beat faintly," he said. "Quick,
Perkins, the cloak! It rains on her."
"The rain will revive her," said Perkins, as he unfolded a long, dark
waterproof cloak and handed it to his companion.
The man lifted Queenie's slight form, and wrapped the long cloak over
the bridal robe in which she had been buried.
"Now, then," he said, putting a thick roll of bank-notes into the man's
hand, "cover up the grave, and remove every trace of this night's work.
And--_remember_, one word of _this_ to a living soul, and I'll send your
black soul to the devil!"
"Mum's the word, sir!" answered the man, beginning to lower the empty
coffin back into the grave.
His employer turned without another word and passed swiftly away through
the rain and the darkness to the carriage that waited for him near the
gates, bearing the unconscious girl in his arms.
He entered the carriage, deposited the still unconscious Queenie on a
seat in a recumbent attitude, and holding her head in his arms, was
whirled rapidly away through the murky night. For an hour or more he
rode thus, and the carriage stopped at length before a cottage embowered
in trees on the banks of a broad, dark river. He lifted his burden,
stepped through the gate, and the carriage whirled away.
Hurrying up the steps, he paused on the low, ornate piazza that ran
around the house, and rang the bell.
The door was opened by a neat-looking woman of middle age, who held a
lamp above her head.
"Ah! it is you," was all she said.
"Yes, it is I; and I have brought back your mistress, Mrs. Bowers, as I
said I would, though you _did_ have the impudence to insinuate that I
had made way with her," he answered, in a tone of rough pleasantry.
"You are none too good to have done it," she answered, with a certain
cool and familiar impertinence.
"Confound your impudence--lead the way to her room," he said,
carelessly. "She is ill and needs attention."
Mrs. Bowers went up the stairway and opened the door into a large, airy
room, exquisitely furnished and draped with hangings of white lace over
rose-colored silk. Costly pictures and statuettes adorned the walls, and
all the appointments were of elegant design, and evidently selected
regardless of expense.
Mrs. Bowers held back the sweeping lace canopy of the low French bed,
and the man laid his fair burden down upon it, after removing the dark
cloak.
"What ails her?" asked the woman, starting as a low moan broke from the
lips of the only half-conscious girl.
"I told you she was ill," he said, curtly. "She has been in a swoon. Get
restoratives."
Mrs. Bowers obeyed him, and was soon bathing the pale face and limp,
nerveless hands, with refreshing perfume.
Directly Queenie started up, passed her hand across her brow and looked
about her. An expression of loathing swept across her face.
"Are you glad to find yourself in your old quarters, my dear?" asked the
man, sardonically, from the window to which he had retreated.
She started as if someone had struck her a terrible blow, and looked
across the room. Fear, horror, despair, were all blended in the look she
cast upon his handsome, satanically smiling face.